


Of Coffee, Pianos, and Stubbed Toes

by ebocoe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Humanstuck, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:11:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1383682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebocoe/pseuds/ebocoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sleep deprived Karkat discovers John playing music in the wee hours of the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Coffee, Pianos, and Stubbed Toes

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you’re Really Fucking Tired.  You’re laying in your bed, eyes as open as they were 6 hours ago.  You sigh and turn your head to the side, looking at the clock.  Bright red numbers glare back, mocking you. _Fuck you, pretentious ass clock._  You groan and flop an arm over your face. _If you were going to fall asleep you already would’ve._ You drag your lump of flesh out of bed, much to your legs’ protest.  Walking downstairs, your toe becomes quickly acquainted with a very intrusive wall that was obviously deliberately blocking your path. 

 _Fuckshitpissbitchassholedamnwalliwilligniteyouandburnyouruselessnesstoashes._  A string of curses fall from your lips as you half hop-half dance to the kitchen, as walking is much too painful with your _horrendous injury_. You may not make it through the night.  You manage to waltz to the counter on the eastern wall, which holds the most ingenious thing you’ve ever used.

The coffee maker.

You pour grounds into the filter at the mouth of the contraption, and then water in the chamber at the back, pressing the button that pushes the machine to life. At least you’ll die a heroes’ death. You stand a bit, listening to the…what are you listening to?  God you’re tired as shit.  You shuffle out of the kitchen, back into the sitting room.  No, no, you can definitely hear something.  It sounds like… music? _Well this day has just been fucking full of surprises hasn’t it._ Its drifting from down the hallway, leading to the bathroom and John’s room. _Fucking idiot left his iPod on again._ Then again, it is rather nice music; soft, and kind of sad.  You find yourself starting to sway a bit. _What the fuck dude? You’re a grown ass man damn it._ Shortly after this you remember you are 17 years old.  You shake yourself of angry declarations of maturity, and start towards the source of the melody.  As you draw farther down the hallway, you remember two things: a) There is a keyboard in Egbert’s room and b) He can play said keyboard.

You want slam your head into a fucking wall.

You don’t, but you consider knocking on the door and telling him the shut the fuck up because a certain 17 year old boy needs to go to goddamn sleep. 

Again, you don’t. You stand there, letting the notes wash over you, an array of highs and lows and just in between. Before you realized what you’re doing, your hand is on the doorknob and twisting and…

“Karkat?” The music stops.

The boy is seated on the edge of his bed, hair mussed up. _At least one person in this fucking house got to sleep at all._ He peers at you with perfect, glass-like blue eyes from behind his glasses. 

Your own eyes travel down to his –oh god–bare chest. Your lumgs jump into your throat.

“I-uh, got up to get some coffee and I, um,  heard you playing.”

A long silence stretches.

“So… did you like it?”

“Yes!” You reply, much too quickly. Too ashamed to look up, you choose to study the floorboards beneath your feet rather than the patterns of his freckles –which you were _not_ doing whatsoever.

When you finally do, he’s staring at you. You meet his eyes, and he quickly averts them.  A light dusting of pink blankets his cheeks and, well, you didn’t need your heart anyway. You swallow the lump quickly growing in your throat.

“I could… play again… if you want?” He says it like a question, and the way his voice cracked at the end literally decimated what was left of your logical comprehension. 

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that.”  He flashes you a brilliant smile and wiggle-scoots to the left more, doing the same with his keyboard.  He pats the space next to him.  You move on numb legs, pulse thundering away in your chest so hard you wonder if you may have a condition.  You take your seat next to him and he scoots over, leg flush with yours.

You’re dead.

He flashes you a small grin before he places his fingers over the keys, moving expertly to coax out a soft harmony.  You take a bit more time to observe his skin up close. It looks soft, like silk. He must be made of magic, you think. Air and skin-silk and _magic._

You find your eyelids starting to droop as he plays. Your last conscious thought is;

_Damn, my coffee burnt._

* * *

 

Blinding sunlight streams through the window, and that’s just a huge ‘fuck you’ from mother nature, complete with a parade and live band. You drag yourself up into a more back-friendly position and it dawns on you. You’re in John’s room. With no John. You also get the stunning revelation that you’re actually under covers. Could John have done that? No, he wouldn’t. The boy in question opens the door suddenly, holding two steaming cups, and wow great timing Ellen fucking DeGeneres.  He sets the mugs down on the nightstand and clambers back into the bed.  Into the bed with you. He looks at you and opens his mouth as if to say something, but then promptly closes it. He snaps a quick glance down at your mouth and _holy shit was that real?_ You realize all too cliché that your faces are really fucking close.  He leans forward a fraction and _oh._  You breathe out as he breathes in and _wow did it just get really hot in here?_ He moves a millimeter closer and oh god _yes._ You lean the rest of the way forward, slowly taking his lips with your own.  One million fireworks explode on your lips. He slides his hands into your hair softly pulling and petting and everything.  You feel his tongue graze over your bottom lip and that’s all amazingly alright.  Your tongue collides with his in a tortuously delicious dance.  You break apart for air, gasping with pleasure. He grins up at you and you return it, too amazed to speak.  You turn your head and frown as he buries his nose in your hair. 

“The coffee got cold!”

He laughs into your scalp and, well, coffee doesn't really matter anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Its like 2am right now and im really tired so i channeled my sufferings into art.  
> Enjoy! and please, please, if you see any mistakes, don't hesitate to tell me. :)  
> Hella


End file.
